


Cliffs Edge

by mechanicalUniverses



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (?), Angst, Character Study, M/M, Names are mentioned like once, Pining, Symbolic Text, This is just metaphors and that’s it, Unknown Love, Unrequited Love, grif - Freeform, it could work for anyone, read this however the hell you want I don’t even know, thel told me to put this tag so, this was made with grimmons in mind but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalUniverses/pseuds/mechanicalUniverses
Summary: Deceivingly soft and rounded, they tempt him closer and closer to the edge, a siren’s call to look, to lean over, to fall—





	Cliffs Edge

**Author's Note:**

> not for the angst war, but here we are anyway being somewhat angsty anyway. sorry ive been gone for the past few months! ive been very busy with a lot of things, plus it is the off-season and insipiration is at a low. but im back! enjoy the read (❁´︶`❁)

He was like towering cliffs; so tall and so out of reach that all he could do was wander around and around the base, wondering how to get to the top. At some point (he doesn’t remember exactly when) he began to climb. It took him years and years of walking and stumbling and skidding back down the rocky walls more times than he can count, but he made it.

He’s at the top.

Years pass. He discovers that he isn’t satisfied. There was something more to it. He looks towards the edge and wonders; what could possibly be _there_ of all places?

He ignores it. More time passes by, and all he does is sit at the top of the cliff with his back on the bark of a bent, bare tree. There is a place amongst the sprawling roots that allows him to sit without any of the knots in the trunk digging into him, and the tree itself curves conveniently with his spine. It is an oddly perfect place for him. He would pay it more attention if he weren’t so focused on the edges of the cliff.

Deceivingly soft and rounded, they tempt him closer and closer to the edge, a siren’s call to look, to lean over, to fall.

He has been sitting at the top for what feels like a millennium, so far off the ground that it has been growing more and more difficult to breathe. Sometimes he thinks the cliff grows taller, and he can’t breathe at all. Sometimes it grows shorter, and he can breathe but he’s closer to where he started. Sometimes the sun shines down so brightly it blinds him. Sometimes it snows and he is shivering and frozen as the flakes fall down around him, whispering a thousand different conversations to him. Sometimes the clouds come and wrap him in their frigid, empty embrace, and he accepts it because it was better than the nothing he has.

It would be so easy to get away from that. He was so close, he could look, he could finally _see_ —

He doesn’t.

 _Why not?_ he screams at himself. _Why was he being so much of a coward?_

And a voice that belongs to him but is outside of his head answers, _What if you fell?_

That’s right. He sits back. _What if he fell._ Surely, if he even dared to look, he would fall.

He’s not sure how it would happen. Maybe he would approach and the cliff would instantly crumble under him. Maybe he would have a few moments of security and stupidity and think, This is okay. Maybe he would simply keep walking forward and let himself go.

It didn’t matter much; wasn’t the falling part he was afraid of anyway. It was the landing at the bottom.

Rationally speaking, it should be the same bottom that he had started at. But he’s been up at the top for too long and he can’t remember what it looks like anymore. It could be hundreds of rocks pointed like broken teeth that would crack him wide open and spill everything he had everywhere. It could be an ocean of water like frosted steely that was so cold it would choke and freeze the very air in his lungs or a pit of hell-flames licking his skin with barbed tongues and taking him apart bit by bit. There might not even be a bottom at all and he would just keep falling and falling and falling into an endless void.  
  
Whatever it was, it would not be kind to Dexter Grif.

So he stays right there at the top of those cliffs with his back against the skeleton tree, and he ignores the cries coming from the bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! come hit me up on [tumblr](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/), or on the rvb discord! (feel free to message me for an invite ٩( *´﹀`* )۶♬*゜) have a lovely day!!


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